


the break of mourning

by asofthaven



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mafia AU, the major character death is set before the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 15:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6571063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asofthaven/pseuds/asofthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ennoshita Chikara loses a father, gains two bodyguards, investigates an attack, and finds something resembling peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the break of mourning

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be done for ennonoya day but time is irrelevant anyways. Shoutout to @fictionalfix for helping me title!! also thanks to the tlisters who encouraged me to finish *finger guns*
> 
> The violence is very lukewarm, but it's there. Please enjoy responsibly!

Ennoshita has been staring at his ceiling ever since he woke up. In fact, he’s not entirely sure he slept at all—at one point it was dark, and now sunlight is creeping along his bedspread and onto the floor. He can’t say whether his eyes ever closed between the dark and the light.

Two taps against his bedroom door capture his attention. Melodic and light—Kinoshita. Tanaka tends to drum at the door.

“Ennoshita?” Kinoshita asks a moment later. He sounds like he hopes Ennoshita isn’t awake. Ennoshita wishes he weren't either.

Ennoshita listens to himself breathe before kicking his covers off to sit up. It’s not like he ever looks well-rested to begin with.

He opens the door to find Kinoshita with his fist ready to knock again. Ennoshita notes that Kinoshita looks tired, too; there’s a tightness around his eyes, but Kinoshita straightens up and blinks it away.

“Morning,” Kinoshita says, and it could almost be any other day, except that the greeting reminds Ennoshita all over again that his father is dead.

“Morning,” Ennoshita echoes. It sounds hollow.

Kinoshita steps back, giving him a tight smile. “Tanaka’s out front. Shimizu-san called us for a meeting.”

Ennoshita frowns, discomfort growing rapidly in his gut. “Did she say what for?”

Kinoshita shakes his head. “She mentioned that we’ll be staying at the base, though,” he adds, and Ennoshita notices a duffle already open, sitting on the couch in the psuedo-living room.

“Forever?” Ennoshita asks, smile wan.

Kinoshita works his toes into the carpet. His shoes are as polished as ever, and even the scuffing doesn’t leave a mark. “You are the boss now.”

Ennoshita sighs heavily. “I’ll finish packing,” he says, and Kinoshita nods, moving towards the kitchen to get the coffee going.

 

It’s rainy outside, and Suga tuts at him as soon as Ennoshita slides into the car.

“You’re going to catch a cold, Ennoshita-san,” Suga says, and it takes Ennoshita two seconds to reconcile being referred to as _-san_ by Suga. It is, he decides, better than being _–sama_ , which is just above being _young master_.

“I think I’ll be okay,” Ennoshita says as Kinoshita closes the door.

Suga gives Ennoshita a sympathetic look through the rearview mirror, and Ennoshita notes the smudges under Suga’s eyes. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

Ennoshita drops his gaze, ignoring the gust of cold wind when Kinoshita opens the door on the other side and slips into the seat next to him. “Did you?”

Suga’s answer—if he were going to give any, that is, and Ennoshita is sure he wasn’t—is interrupted by Tanaka getting into the passenger side, closing the door behind him with a magnificent slam.

“Hey, boss,” he greets, turning to give Ennoshita a lackluster grin as Suga finally gets the car going. His eyes are lined with red, and Ennoshita is unwilling to think of Tanaka crying over the death of Ennoshita’s father when Ennoshita himself had only managed a few solitary tears.

“I’m not the boss,” Ennoshita responds automatically, but the statement hangs with uncomfortable gravity in the otherwise quiet car. Ennoshita quickly turns his head to stare out of the window, unable to focus on the passing scenery.

“Suga, could you put the partition up?” Kinoshita asks. The rain patters above them in time with the partition rolling up.

Kinoshita doesn’t ask him anything once it’s up, and Ennoshita rests his forehead on the glass and doesn’t say anything either.

It’s too soon for a funeral, but Ennoshita can’t help but think this is perfect funeral weather—his father always said rain for a funeral was clichéd, but Ennoshita appreciates the ambience of an overcast sky as a coffin is lowered into the ground.

The image is decidedly Western, but he allows himself the momentary cinematic rumination anyways.

What will really happen is this: the family will set aside seven days to mourn the loss of their boss, but it will be business as usual despite that. There will be guns to clean and streets to watch, and at the end of the week, Ennoshita will wait dispassionately in the lobby of the crematorium for his father’s ashes to be returned.

At some point amid the bustle, Ennoshita will formally accept the title of don of the Karasuno crows.

Closing his eyes, Ennoshita presses his forehead harder against the cool glass. He hopes for tangible breaking, but there’s nothing but a growing headache behind his eyes and the overpowering feeling of being unable to replace what’s been lost.

He wishes the car ride was longer. He wishes it would never end. He wishes that this was all there was: a car, a road, and the soothing sound of rain.

 

Ennoshita’s first crystal clear memory is this: being placed on shoulders, and seeing rows upon rows of people looking up at him. Most were in suits, black and flat, but some were in heavy kimonos, splashes of color and pattern against the cold white of the ground. The noise is what he remembers most—people talking, something tinkling like wind chimes, laughter.

It’s no less loud when he returns, nearly twenty years later; people line the entryway, and Suga laughs at their formality when a chorus of, “Hello, Ennoshita-sama” greets them.

But it’s not until Ennoshita passes one of the training rooms that things become properly unruly. 

The new initiates pause to bow, another echoing chorus of, “Hello, Ennoshita-sama” resounding off the walls. A simulation is going in the background, Narita’s voice running through drills.

Ennoshita gives them all a tight smile, and that’s when the dam truly breaks. The next thing he knows, condolences are falling from everyone’s mouth, and Hinata looks like he’s about to cry, and Ennoshita is quickly, overwhelmingly already in over his head.

But he smiles and pats backs, says his thanks, and acts like absolutely everything is under his control.

Ennoshita’s known a lot of death in his time, and it doesn’t occur to him that twenty three is pretty young to lose a parent until he’s passing the main room and sees his father’s picture set up, incense already burning low. His first thought is not _I need to do that_ , or even, _I miss my dad._

It’s _the cost for those flowers is going to be astronomical._

Ennoshita thinks he might be desensitized. It’s not a surprising thought.

 

Shimizu meets him at the entrance of the office, offering only a quiet greeting before turning and leading them inside. Ennoshita is immediately greeted by two nearly identical people, dressed in familiar black. They bow in tandem.

“What,” Ennoshita manages to stammer out. Peripherally, he notes Tanaka and Kinoshita both straightening up, assessing the people in front of him.

“Extra bodyguards,” Shimizu answers, evidently anticipating Ennoshita’s confusion. The two figures straighten up again, faces somber. Their eyes are almost identical shades of amber, and Ennoshita has a brief sense of deja-vu.

“We’ve run into,” she pauses, a delicate thing, “a snag, investigating your father’s death.”

Ennoshita glances at Shimizu uncertainly. _Already_ , he wants to ask, because the man has been dead for all of eighteen hours. “A snag,” he repeats instead.

Shimuzu nods. “Given the current climate, it made sense to grant you more protection, sir.”

Ennoshita is almost as taken aback by the utterance of the word _sir_ as he is by the fact that this snag necessitates more protection from outside the family. His gaze slides unwillingly towards the two people in the room, accidentally catching the gaze of the male. It’s a flashback to fifteen all over again, and Ennoshita drops his gaze and leans towards Shimizu.

“Guardians?” he asks, quietly, because he can’t quite wrap his head around the fact that the guardians are here.

He knows who they are, in a roundabout sort of way. They’d been sentinels for his father, ripples of clothing appearing out of nowhere when tensions between other families and start-up gangs were high. His men, without actually being his men.

Shimizu and Ennoshita used to watch them, whenever they were at the base. Technically, they weren’t supposed to interact with each other—to prevent attachments, his father always said. There was no use in growing attached to someone whose loyalties lay with paychecks.

Now, standing in the same room as them, Ennoshita can’t help but feel like he’s broken some fundamental rule of his being.

Shimizu nods again, a faint glimmer behind her glasses. It’s gone by the time she turns to the guardians, says, “Ennoshita Chikara,” and continues without a pause, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, “Don of the Karasuno Crows.”

Ennoshita tries not to flinch at the newly minted title and turns his attention to the guardians. He’s shocked to see how little has changed from his memory of them. They might even be the same height they were when he was fifteen.

“Sir,” Shimizu continues, and Ennoshita recognizes that glint when she continues, “The family’s guardians.”

 _Oh,_ Ennoshita thinks, because he’s feeling a little awe-struck, too.

Shimizu gestures for them to start speaking, and so they do.

“Michimiya,” says the one on the left. A scar peeks out from under her sleeve, and even though she’s not smiling, Ennoshita has the feeling that one is waiting just under her façade of professionalism.

“Nishinoya,” says the other, voice a cymbal’s clash in the room. He’s staring at Ennoshita with unflinching appraisal, and Ennoshita doesn’t want to know what assessment he ends up with.

Ennoshita nods, holding long-held curiosity at bay. They’re questions for when trust has been established, and it’s too soon for anything other than the assurance that they’ll listen to his orders, if nothing else.

His father comes to mind, suddenly, and something nameless crawls into Ennoshita’s chest and sucks the air right out of him. Had his father earned their trust? Ennoshita can’t imagine he hadn’t.

But it’s not like he can ask, now.

Ennoshita rolls his shoulder forward, a minute movement, and Tanaka and Kinoshita move forward to stand in front of him. It’s become second nature to him now, having Kinoshita and Tanaka understand his little movements. So much of their life has become nonverbal that Ennoshita doesn’t bother to think how it might look to an outsider until he notices the way Nishinoya’s eyes jump from him to them, suddenly sharp. Michimiya, too, has her eyes narrowed, and Ennoshita thinks, fleetingly: clever.

But then, of course, they’d have to be, if they’re here.

Kinoshita introduces himself first, with a quick bow and a nervous press of his mouth that only shows when they’re nowhere near danger. Tanaka goes immediately after, standing at his fullest height and using his meanest face.

Ennoshita doesn’t roll his eyes, but only because they’re in new company.

“Tanaka and Kinoshita will remain your primary guards,” Shimizu says once they’re done, her voice smooth as always. She glances down, the movement causing the light to catch on the lens of her glasses as she reads something off of the paper she was carrying. “There’s a briefing with Tsukishima about the details surrounding your father’s death,” she starts, switching seamlessly to _business as usual_ while Ennoshita still feels three steps behind.

 _Business as usual_ , Ennoshita thinks, willing it into truth. He nods as Shimizu lists off his morning duties, pretends that there’s nothing uncomfortable at all about being seated at the desk that previously belonged to his father.

 

Rumor moves quickly when there are all of five teenagers in the house of a mob family.

“Have you seen them yet?” Ennoshita asks once Shimizu returns, a pristine Japanese to English dictionary in her hands. She gives him a blank look, and he gives her an equally expressionless one in return. Her gaze drops, but Ennoshita knows it’s not an indication of her giving in.

He watches her rifle through a few pages of the dictionary, pressing open the correct page with a single finger. Her eyebrows furrow together. She is, Ennoshita guesses, preparing herself to officially join in on council meetings and whatever else is expected of the successor advisor of the family. Normally, Ennoshita would respect this, and not pester her. This time, though, he leans forward, frowning.

“Tanaka says they’re _our_ age,” he says, and that has the desired effect; Shimizu looks up, her mouth a perfect O before she catches herself and schools her expression back into neutrality.

“Hm,” she says thoughtfully, and Ennoshita knows that it’s not really the age that’s getting to either of them—Ennoshita first saw a guy get shot in real time when he was seven, and was first taught how to kill a man when he was eight. His sense of morality has been understandably skewed, and at this point, fifteen-maybe-sixteen hardly seems too young to be professional hitmen.

It’s the age in combination with the prestige.

“They’ve gotten quite a reputation already,” Shimizu says. She sounds impressed. She opens her mouth to say something else, but a knock at Ennoshita’s partially open door stops her. They turn to find Saeko pushing it open with a fiery grin. In the same way as her brother’s, the grin promises that she’s up to no good and is going to get you caught up in it.

Ennoshita narrows his eyes distrustfully, even though he is actually quite trustful of the Tanakas. “Yes?” he asks.

“Calm down, little boss,” she says good-naturedly. The nickname would be annoying if it were anyone else. “But the cavalry's coming back and you’ve gotta see those guardians for yourself, yeah?”

Saeko, Ennoshita had found out early in life, was a preferable guard for this very reason: she never much minded rule-breaking.

Five minutes later, the three of them were situated in one of the alcoves above the entrance. Ennoshita spots Kinoshita and Tanaka first, dressed in their suits and bizarrely alien when lined up alongside the rest of the bodyguards. His attention is immediately snatched by his father’s arrival, bringing with him the tang of blood.

It takes Ennoshita two tries to spot the guardians. They blend perfectly into the shadow Ennoshita’s father and his main guards cast, and it’s not until Ennoshita registers the glint of golden eyes that he realizes he’s looking straight at one of them. Without ever breaking his gaze on Ennoshita, the boy whispers to the other person in the shadows, and then both of the guardians are staring at him. A shiver runs down Ennoshita’s spine.

Shimizu makes a small noise next to him, a sharp intake of breath. Saeko whistles, low and impressed.

“They found you quick, sir,” Saeko says.

It’s not the fact that he’s been found that shocks him; it’s the fact that the boy first looked at him with the narrowed eyes of recognizing Ennoshita as someone of importance. Someone of power.

Ennoshita, for all that he is a mob boss’ son, is not used to people registering him as a threat. It is his name, not his presence, that usually commands attention. When looked at alongside people like the Tanaka siblings or Asahi, Ennoshita can only expect to go unnoticed.

He’s never much thought about being _seen_ , and even after the amber eyes flick away from him, Ennoshita finds himself hugging his middle, bereft of an armor he hadn’t known he was carrying.

 

They are not allowed to interact. This is expressly prohibited by Ennoshita’s father, and so only as avoidable as he makes it.

And, frustratingly, his father makes it quite unavoidable. Ennoshita has tutoring whenever they’re around, and he can only sometimes catch glimpses of them as he walks through the grounds. A girl and a boy, and he doesn’t even know either of their names.

“We haven’t talked to them either,” Tanaka says, sulking with his chin resting on the table in Ennoshita’s room. His homework is forgotten under a dismantled gun he’s supposed to have put back together thirty minutes ago. “We’re not even allowed to train with them.”

“Why do you sound disappointed?” Narita asks, giving Tanaka a dubious look from overtop his laptop. His homework involves coding and Ennoshita does not envy him.

“Yeah, I don’t think I want to try fighting them yet,” Kinoshita says with a little shiver. His homework has been forgotten, too, but his gun is perfectly back together. “They could kill us.”

“We could kill them,” Tanaka says, straightening up suddenly. “Don’tcha think?”

Kinoshita waves a hand flippantly. “But we couldn’t kill them now. Do you know what they’ve done?”

Ennoshita does, in fact, know what they’ve done. It is a short list that mostly involves the assassination of high-profile criminals not unlike Ennoshita’s own family.

The difference being, of course, that they are _not_ Ennoshita’s family, and therefore, not people he should waste his sympathies on.

“I bet the guardians can read _kanji_ , too,” Ennoshita muses aloud. Narita ducks his head to hide his laughter while Kinoshita and Tanaka glance away guiltily, but before Ennoshita can properly needle them into doing their homework, Shimizu pops her head into Ennoshita’s room. Tanaka immediately brightens. Kinoshita flicks an eraser to the back of his head.

“Ennoshita-san, your father wants you to sit in on a council meeting,” she says, greeting the others with a brief nod.

Ennoshita makes a face, but doesn’t complain. When he stands, Tanaka and Kinoshita stand as well. It’s something Ennoshita is still learning to get used to—it’s one thing to have Saeko or Asahi guarding his room. It’s another thing entirely to have two people shadow his every movement.

“See you later,” he says to Narita, who gives them all a forlorn wave before turning his attention back to his laptop.

As they’re passing through the hallway connected the training rooms to the back council room, the eldest Ukai sticks his head out of one of the open doors. He doesn’t have to say anything to get them to stop walking—he just narrows his eyes and they do.

Kinoshita makes a faint, distressed noise. Ennoshita knows what’s coming even before Ukai asks, “Can you spare your guards, Ennoshita-san? I have to update them on their training schedule.”

It’s amazing how even when using a deferment, Ukai still manages to sound like he’s the one in charge.

“Uh,” Ennoshita says.

Kinoshita and Tanaka turn to look at Ennoshita, who turns to Shimizu, who gives him a very blank look that indicates that she has no part in deciding what his guard is or is not allowed to do.

Ennoshita decides that he is unlikely to be killed while next to Shimizu and waves the two of them towards Ukai. Kinoshita looks at him as if Ennoshita has sentenced him to death, but Tanaka grins, slapping him on his back. Ennoshita doesn’t think Tanaka needs to get any stronger than he already is, but what does Ennoshita know, anyways.

He and Shimizu continue towards the conference room downstairs while Ukai’s voice echoes behind them, detailing a training regime that makes Ennoshita incredibly glad that he’s opted out of combat training for the time being.

Then they crash into the guardians at the bottom of the wide staircase.

There’s brief scramble as Shimizu and Ennoshita take a few hurried steps back, and the guardians recover and bow, in tandem. Their voices overlap each other, both hurrying to apologize for crashing into the young master and his advisor.

Ennoshita and Shimizu share looks of polite bewilderment at their respective titles.

When the guardians straighten up, clearly intent on continuing upstairs, they both stop and stare at Shimizu. Ennoshita doesn’t hold it against them, but he narrows his eyes on principle. Shimizu doesn’t particularly like being stared at and Ennoshita knows this, so he clears his throat and asks, as politely as he can, “Did you need something?”

“Sorry, sir,” the girl bursts out, her eyes tearing away from Shimizu as she drops into another low bow. Her voice is clear and strong, cleaving through the air with little resistance. If it weren’t for the structure of the house, Ennoshita imagines her voice would echo. “We were just making our way upstairs!”

Ennoshita leans back a bit, not expecting the reaction, and it’s that surprise that makes him forget his father’s forbiddance and ask, “Where are you headed?”

“We were sent to assist Asahi-san with a mission,” the boy answers, standing at a stiff attention. He looks like he’s trying very hard not to look in Shimizu’s direction and failing terribly. There’s a flare to him that Ennoshita can’t put a finger on—it’s in his hair, in the restlessness of his eyes, in the scar that curls along his jaw.

Despite himself, Ennoshita stares. He thinks _these are the shadow guardians of the crows_ , and the edge of his mouth tugs upwards.

The boy’s eyes settle abruptly on Ennoshita.

“Well,” Ennoshita says, his smile vanishing and replaced with vague discomfort, “He’s usually in the dining room by now.”

It’s not until he’s said it that it occurs to him that he maybe shouldn’t be sending unaccompanied trained assassins through the base towards Asahi. Asahi is famously glass-hearted and easily spooked, even if he’s easily the strongest enforcer the family had.

And then, of course, is the fact that they’re _unaccompanied trained assassins_ , and Ennoshita is currently without his guard. Ennoshita is not unaccustomed to being a target for kidnapping and assassinations.

The boy seems to recognize the moment Ennoshita comes to this realization; his mouth lifts into a sharp grin, but his voice is light, playful even, when he asks, “You’re not worried about sending us unsupervised?”

The girl aggressively digs an elbow into the boy’s rib. She starts to apologize, but Ennoshita asks, “Well, are you going to kill him? Or me?”

The guardians stare back at him, slack-jawed. Ennoshita shrugs. Direct questions have always been the best way to figure someone out, he’s found.

“'Course not,” the boy says. He sounds vaguely offended, continues, “We couldn’t kill you.”

And Ennoshita’s mouth twists. “Not while you’re contracted.”

“No,” the boy says stubbornly, “Not at all.”

Why pushes against Ennoshita’s lips—honesty is a dangerous thing, but Ennoshita wants to know anyways, wants to ask if there’s some honor code they live by, wants to ask for a name, at least.

He wants, insatiably, to learn _more._

But then his father turns the corner, his eyebrow arching up in a way Ennoshita hasn’t yet mastered.

“Chikara,” he says, and Ennoshita straightens. He notices the way the boy mouths the name, like he’s committing it to memory, and feels his ears redden. “Kiyoko.”

He doesn’t say anything else, but Ennoshita and Shimizu both hurry forwards, barely sparing a second glance in the direction of the guardians. He’s probably in trouble, he knows, but—

His curiosity is hard to ignore.

After the meeting, when they’re back in Ennoshita’s room, Shimizu and Ennoshita sit in contemplative silence, working on their respective assignments. Narita is curled up on Ennoshita’s bed, adorning Ennoshita’s bedsheets with spit. Ennoshita decides he’s known Narita too long to be mad about it.

“They weren’t what I thought they’d be,” Ennoshita says eventually, giving up on homework for the moment. He’s not entirely sure what he was expecting—people more stoic, certainly.

“Mm,” Shimizu agrees. She glances at him briefly, before adding, “He kept staring at you.” She taps her pencil against her bottom lip in thought.

“Well,” Ennoshita stutters, his ears heating up again. He doesn’t know what that means and he doesn’t want to waste time trying to figure it out.

Shimizu lets out a quiet huff of laughter, but doesn’t press the subject.

“How long do you think they’ll be staying?” Ennoshita asks, picking up his pencil and opening his notebook to the appropriate page.

Shimizu shrugs, dropping her gaze back to her dictionary. Her glasses slip a little, but she doesn’t push them back up. Ennoshita suspects she isn’t really paying attention, yet. “Maybe a few days. They never stay for long.”

Her voice is wistful. Ennoshita, rolling his pencil between his fingers, finds that he feels the same.

 

Ennoshita’s meeting with Tsukishima could be summarized with the words _it’s a mystery who shot your father, and no other family, friendly or otherwise, is attempting to take the credit._

Which at least explains why Shimizu chose to assign the guardians. Ennoshita hasn’t seen them since he was fifteen, right when his family was first making themselves known.

“This feel excessive,” Ennoshita confesses, rolling a pencil against his father’s desk. His desk. The paperwork in front of him is his now, not his father’s. The grounds outside—Ennoshita’s. The teams within and around Miyagi—Ennoshita’s.

It leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

Shimizu smiles, tight-lipped. “Sir, we still haven’t figured out who ordered—”

“Please don’t,” Ennoshita interrupts. Hearing her call him _sir_ is giving him a new headache. He’s still recovering from the one in the car.

Shimizu relaxes slightly, but her eyes dart to the smallest figures in the room. Neither of them are looking at him and Shimizu, but Ennoshita’s sure they’re listening.

Shimizu adjusts her glasses before continuing. “Until we’ve gotten a clearer picture, I can’t allow you to go unsupervised anywhere.”

It’s her use of _I_ that gives her away—this is less of an elder decision than it is a purely Shimizu one. Ennoshita’s father was not remiss in appointing Shimizu as Ennoshita’s advisor. Quiet as she is, Shimizu always ends up getting her way.

Ennoshita slumps forward a bit. He knows it’s in his best interest, but he can’t help the uncomfortable feeling of being too tethered to the family.

But he’s the head now. There is no family without him.

“Okay,” Ennoshita says, after a moment. He squares his shoulders like he’s going out on a mission before turning his attention to the paperwork laid out in front of him. A lot of financial stuff—fees for protection, for damages caused by his people, for the costs of weapons and ammunition. This, at least, is what he knows how to do. “I don’t really think I’ll be going anywhere soon, anyways,” he says, gesturing to the pile.

Shimizu nods, her attention back on the ever-present notebook in her hand. She hesitates before saying, “There is footage to review…?”

The thought of watching his father’s murder on repeat makes Ennoshita feel dangerously ill. He shakes his head because he’s not entirely sure he could manage words.

Shimizu pauses to squeeze his shoulder lightly before bowing and excusing herself.

“Ah, Shimizu,” Ennoshita says, uncomfortably aware of the gazes of his newest bodyguards as he takes a moment to figure out how to word his question. “Did you. Has the date been decided?”

He can’t say the word funeral.

Shimizu nods again, and her eyes look softer this time around. “Six more days,” she says. “Takeda insisted we stick with tradition.”

Ennoshita nods, not sure how long would have been long enough.

“Thank you,” he says, both in earnest and as a dismissal. Shimizu bows once more before turning and leaving.

He files the information away for later, and turns his attention to his paperwork.

 

The day passes in a blur of _not-quites_ —everything is the same, but just a bit off, so that Ennoshita constantly feels like he’s missing a step. It happens every time he sees his father’s name on a form, every time Shimizu calls him to let him know another underboss had called to offer condolences.

By the time Ennoshita is done with the day, he feels as if he’s lived ten. He rests his head, briefly, on the top of the desk. There’s another headache building behind his eyes.

“Ennoshita-san,” Kinoshita says, and there’s a note of something in his voice that catches Ennoshita’s attention. It sounds like the way Kinoshita might talk to his father. “You were planning to head back to your room, weren’t you?”

Ennoshita hadn’t thought anything of the sort, but he nods like he has. He hasn’t stopped into his old room since getting to the base, and had nearly forgotten it existed.

“And you two might as well follow,” Ennoshita adds, because if Michimiya and Nishinoya were being added to his guard, they’d have to know where he slept.

“Yessir,” they chirp, and Ennoshita tries to smile. It feels like a grimace.

“Tanaka,” he says, and Tanaka leads the way, Michimiya and Nishinoya close behind, and Kinoshita keeping step with Ennoshita. If they were in public and not at the base, Ennoshita is sure they’d be rigidly at his side in a familiar four person guard formation.

Ennoshita chances a glance at them while they head through the connecting hallway. They’re the same height, and walk with identical strides; Ennoshita can’t help but wonder at what point they got to be so easily in sync.

He wants to ask about it, but not quite yet.

Tanaka, however, has no such qualms. “So where’ve you two been for the past few years?” he asks. Ennoshita snorts.

“Abroad, mostly,” Michimiya answers cheerily; the act of moving seems to have made her forget about being stoic—she’s glancing at the paintings along the wall with interest. Ennoshita glances at them, too; there are weapons hidden behind every third painting, because Ennoshita’s father made a point to never have the family defenseless. It’s one of his strong points.

Was. Is.

“We spent a few months in Italy before coming here,” Nishinoya says.

“A job?” Ennoshita asks, wondering if there were any high-profile assassinations in Italy that he’d missed in recent months.

Nishinoya laughs delightedly. It’s loud and it suits him. “Nah, Yui just wanted to see the gondolas.”

Michimiya splutters. “You made us spend three days at the Colosseum.”

Nishinoya lets out a dreamy sigh. “It was so cool.”

Ennoshita smiles bemusedly when Tanaka turns his head, says, “That sounds awesome.”

Ennoshita reacquaints himself with the pattern of the floorboards, listening to his guard talk without absorbing any of their words. He’s surprised when they come to a stop at his room. He presses his hand to the pad at the side of the door, and speaks; Narita had gone all out with updating the security measures. The door slides open seamlessly, and he walks in, letting everyone trail in after him.

It looks about the same as he left it; the wide combination living area and kitchen has a traditional layout, and the furniture is at a minimum. Nondescript and uninteresting; Ennoshita tries not to wonder what his newest guards must think of it.

“Well,” Ennoshita says, gesturing around the room as if to say _this is all there is_. “You can discuss the night rotation with Kinoshita, if you’d like, but otherwise this is where I’ll be.” He frowns. “Unless I’m in the office, I guess.”

He offers Michimiya and Nishinoya a smile, feeling a bit better now that he was somewhere familiar. “There are probably snacks above the fridge,” he says.

Michimiya and Nishinoya share a look before heading towards the fridge. Nishinoya has to prop himself halfway up on the counter to reach the cupboard, and Ennoshita absolutely does not smile at the image.

Kinoshita and Tanaka follow Ennoshita into his room.

“Ennoshita,” Kinoshita says, dropping the formality once the door is closed. It had been an act, Ennoshita thinks uselessly. Kinoshita looks worried, and next to him Tanaka’s mouth has dipped into a severe frown. “You should sleep.”

“I’m okay,” Ennoshita says, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Kinoshita and Tanaka share a glance.

“Shimizu-san said your evening is clear until dinner,” Kinoshita says.

“Which means you have time for a nap, I think,” Tanaka says

“We’ll be right outside,” Kinoshita continues primly. “We’ll redirect any calls for you.”

Ennoshita shouldn’t let his subordinates bully him, but it’s hard when he’s known the two of them his entire life. He rubs a hand across his face.

“Fine,” Ennoshita allows. “But only one hour.”

Tanaka nods, and Kinoshita leads the way out of Ennoshita’s room. He knows they’ll be just outside the door, but for once, it seems like a very large distance.

“Ennoshita,” Tanaka adds, lingering with one foot in the doorway. Ennoshita looks up, expecting a reminder for some minute detail he’s forgotten, and instead finds Tanaka biting his lip, looking unusually hesitant.

“Hm?” Ennoshita prompts.

“Sorry for your loss,” Tanaka says, a quick mumble. He closes the door before Ennoshita can answer.

Something hot presses against the backs of his eyes. He wishes Tanaka hadn’t said anything. He’s glad Tanaka did.

Wearily, Ennoshita shrugs out of his suit before submitting to his sudden exhaustion.

 

“Hey,” Tanaka says, leaning over Ennoshita with a wide grin. He’s missing a tooth he certainly had when Ennoshita last saw him, and there’s a bandaid across the bridge of his nose. Ennoshita can’t help but focus on it, trying to figure out how Tanaka might have gotten them, as Tanaka continues, “There are new kids, you wanna meet ‘em?”

“Which family are they from?” Ennoshita asks, closing his book halfway. He’s meet most of the other kids from other families, and he isn’t going to bother getting up if it’s someone he dislikes.

But Tanaka shakes his head, says, “No, kids like sis and me.”

“Oh,” Ennoshita says. He stands, placing his book down and turning to look towards Takeda-san, who’s supposed to be watching him. When Takeda-san gives him a shooing gesture, Ennoshita lets Tanaka lead the way out of the library wing, through the hallways until they reconnect with the main house. The younger Ukai meets them halfway, letting them run ahead of him.

Shimada catches them as they pass the dining room—the actual dining room, and not the long one they use when the whole family gathers.

“They’re looking for the new kids,” Ukai says.

“Ah,” Shimada says. He gives them a long look before smiling and offering the food tray he was carrying. “I’m headed there right now. Do you want to take this to them?”

Tanaka insists he can carry it, but Ennoshita does it anyways; it gives his hands something to do, and unlike Tanaka, Ennoshita doesn’t know how to bluster his way into conversation.

They follow Shimada with Ukai trailing behind them, going slow to make sure Ennoshita doesn’t drop anything. It’s a simple meal—two bowls of miso soup, two bowls of rice, and two plates of steamed fish.

Tanaka gets quieter the closer they get, and by the time Shimada is pushing the door open, Tanaka is pale. _Like me and sis_ means rescued from a shitty place or maybe orphaned. It’s been almost five years since they meet, and Ennoshita knows that Tanaka still has nightmares, sometimes. If Ennoshita weren’t holding the tray, he’d give Tanaka’s hand a squeeze.

Instead, he knocks the toe of his foot into Tanaka’s calf and says, “You’re the one who wanted to meet them.”

Tanaka’s grin is crooked, but the color comes back into his face. “‘Course I did,” he says, all bravado, and follows Shimada inside.

The kids inside are bundled in sweaters too big for them, sitting side by side at the table. Dark and light, Ennoshita thinks, because one has hair pale like wheat-stalks and the other has short, jet black hair.

Shimada doesn’t completely close the door behind him, and Ennoshita knows that Ukai is probably has one hand on the handle and his eyes trained on them through the crack.

Slowly, Ennoshita places the tray on the table and then sits with his legs underneath him. A sharp tug on Tanaka’s shirt, and then Tanaka’s seated next to him.

Ennoshita doesn’t really remember a time before the Tanakas, but he imagines their first meeting must have been a lot like this: watching the two unfamiliar faces that mirror his curiosity and hesitance, and, eventually, outstretching a hand.

 

When Ennoshita thinks of his father, he thinks of two things: simplicity and valor. He thinks _stern_ , he thinks _fair_ , he thinks _I cannot possibly compare._

Skirmishes have already started to break out along the edges of their borders, and Ennoshita spends his morning ordering extra patrols, discussing what next with the underbosses. It’s a day of _doing_ —he meets briefly with the elder Tsukishima about the investigation, talks arms sales with Asahi, calls Oikawa to discuss political ramifications, and throughout, Ennoshita nurses the feeling that he’s not doing enough—that he’s never quite managed _being_ enough.

It’s well into the afternoon when he’s back in his office to deal with the monotony of paperwork. Michimiya and Tanaka are stationed outside, and Nishinoya and Kinoshita are at ease inside, and Ennoshita wants desperately to leave the base and not deal with anything but the efficiency of air conditioning.

He won’t leave it, though. He can’t; a group of this size, suddenly disbanding? The power vacuum would be devastating, and there are crueler families out there, waiting to capitalize on the change of heads.

Ennoshita shudders. He hates that turn of phrase.

“Ennoshita-san,” Michimiya pipes up from the doorway. “One of the underbosses wants to speak with you.”

“Who?” he asks, though he has a feeling he knows who it is. Datekou is usually the first to show up in these situations.

“Futakuchi-san,” Michimiya says, exactly as Ennoshita expected.

Ennoshita gives himself exactly fifteen seconds to enjoy the peace and quiet of his office before saying, “Let him in.”

Futakuchi emerges the moment Michimiya disappears. He looks supremely unruffled, his shirt ironed to perfection, his hair careless disarray. Everything about Datekou is made to intimidate, but Ennoshita’s known Futakuchi too long to be anything other than mildly annoyed.

“Futakuchi,” Ennoshita greets, gesturing for him to sit. At a tilt of his head, Kinoshita maneuvers Nishinoya and himself out of the office. Futakuchi watches them go.

“So,” he says, leaning back in his chair and somehow still managing to look overlarge. He smiles, pleasant and antagonizing at the same time. Something in Ennoshita’s jaw jumps. He still can’t tell whether or not he genuinely enjoys the other’s company. “How’re you holding up as the boss?”

Ennoshita isn’t expecting the question; he’s expecting work, and it takes him a little to be able to formulate an answer.

“Well.” He halts, frowning. It’s felt like an exceedingly odd dream, but he isn’t sure how to express that. Isn’t sure if he’s allowed to express that. “I’ve been running around too much to really think about it.”

Futakuchi nods, leaning forward to snag three candies from the bowl on Ennoshita’s desk, meticulously unwrapping one before popping it into his mouth.

“When Moniwa-san resigned,” Futakuchi starts, the candy clicking against his teeth, “it felt like a joke, yanno? Like, you can’t seriously leave me in charge.”

Ennoshita nods; Moniwa had only been an underboss for a few scant years before he revealed that he would be stepping down. He resigned a few months ago, but the transition, as far as Ennoshita remembers it, had been seamless.

“I mean, being in charge _sucks,_ ” Futakuchi continues. Ennoshita snorts at his brazenness. “Have you met my team? Of course you have—they’re a mess. They’re great. Our newest sharpshooter is about as stealthy as a natural disaster. Aone picks up every stray he finds. Obara practices his traps on the rest of the team.” He leans forward, palms flat on Ennoshita’s desk with a slam. “Sakunami is becoming faster than me.”

Ennoshita can’t help his grin. His image of the Iron Wall that is Datekou has always been one of stern-faced goliaths with more tactical brilliance than most. Nothing gets past them unless it’s planned, and Ennoshita can’t help but feel that knowing that their base is overrun with small animals and practical jokes has irrevocably broken that image for him.

Futakuchi pops a second candy in his mouth, scowling. “These are real problems, Ennoshita-san,” he says sternly.

“Am I supposed to do something about that?” Ennoshita asks, half-serious. His father always left the underbosses and their teams to their own devices until he needed them. Ennoshita knew they all reported back when necessary, and it wasn’t unusual for people to drop by on visits. Fractal, but still connected. That was how any family was supposed to survive.

Futakuchi harrumphs. “I can deal with it. As long as Obara doesn’t accidentally maim someone.” His gaze unfocuses for a moment, like he can envision that exact thing happening. He shakes his head. “Anyways, that’s not what I’m here for. Sorry about your dad.”

The turn of conversation is like whiplash to Ennoshita’s heart. The smiles slips from his face. “Ah,” he says, throat tight. “Thank you.”

“We’ll be at the funeral, in full force if you’d like.” Futakuchi’s chest puffs out, a glint of pride in his eyes. “We’ve gotten more numbers recently, and no one would think to mess with the proceedings while we’re there.”

Ennoshita appreciates his concern, and makes a mental note to go through the personal in the Datekou cell before then. He’d like to be able to remember names.

“Thank you,” Ennoshita says. “I’ll remember that.”

“And one more thing.” Futakuchi says this with a certain amount of gravity, the kind of somber tone that usually proceeds his voice commanding his squad.

Futakuchi leans forward, and Ennoshita recognizes this face. This is his _prying_ face. This is when Aone usually puts a hand to Futakuchi’s face, and wordlessly bows them out. Ennoshita stares forlornly at the door. Aone isn’t here right now.

“That _is_ them, right?”

There’s no question as to who he’s talking about. “Is it that surprising?” Ennoshita hedges, “It’s not as if this is the first time they’ve been employed by us.”

“Those guardians have always had a soft spot for the crows,” Futakuchi says, sounding almost envious. “They’d been gone for so long I thought they retired.”

“They’ve been working with us for a long time,” Ennoshita says as an explanation, “And even the best assassins need a break. Probably.”

Futakuchi just _hms_ before standing.

“Let us know how you want us to show up,” he says. “Make sure you talk to someone that isn’t Koganegawa, though.”

Ennoshita makes a mental note of the name, assuming that this is the newest sharpshooter. “Alright.”

“And hey,” Futakuchi says, popping the third candy into his mouth, “If you need to like.” His mouth scrunches. “Talk? Or something. You can always give me a call.”

Ennoshita almost smiles. “Are you trying to comfort me?”

“I’m just saying,” Futakuchi says, and this time his smile is a bit more friendly, “You have a lot on your plate.”

“I’m okay,” Ennoshita says, and Futakuchi presses his lips together in disbelief. Ennoshita forgets, sometimes, that Futakuchi’s known him just as long as Ennoshita’s known him.

“If you say so,” Futakuchi says with a shrug. He grabs another handful of candy before disappearing out of the door.

 

Ennoshita thinks that, all things considered, he’s doing pretty okay. So he hasn’t been sleeping much; it’s not like he ever did to begin with. He’s _busy_ , and the funeral is in four days, and his induction ceremony, it’s just been revealed to him after a lengthy meeting with Takeda, is the day after that, and really, Ennoshita is doing perfectly well.

“Ennoshita,” Tanaka says. It’s bleeding into nighttime outside the window, and Ennoshita honestly can’t remember much past breakfast. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ennoshita says. Kinoshita and Tanaka share a look, one of their many silent communications that Ennoshita is only sometimes privy to.

“What?” Ennoshita asks, on the sharper side of annoyance.

“You don’t look fine,” Kinoshita says bluntly.

Tanaka continues, wearing one of his knife-sharp grins, “You look like you need to kick someone’s ass. How about we spar?”

From across the room, Nishinoya blurts out, “Sparring?”

“Sparring!” Michimiya echoes, and then Tanaka joins in, evidently just because he can. It goes from quiet to loud in the time it takes Ennoshita to blink.

He lets out a little bemused sigh, and Kinoshita laughs.

“Sparring it is, then,” Kinoshita says, sounding pleased. He might not be as loud as the others, but Ennoshita knows he also enjoys the practice.

“I haven’t had new sparring partners in _forever_ ,” Nishinoya says as they head towards the training rooms. His eyes glitter. Ennoshita has to blink a bit to chase the image away.

Michimiya clicks her tongue. “That’s because no one can keep up with you.” She sounds both fond and exasperated, and Ennoshita finds himself relating even though he hasn’t known either of them very long.

“You could if you didn’t lose heart so quickly,” Nishinoya chides, rounding on her with his hands on his hips.

“Noya, that’s not—” she stops mid-sentence and mid-stride. With surprising force, she slams her palms to her cheeks.

Ennoshita and Kinoshita jump at the noise. Tanaka looks like he was the one slapped.

“You’re right,” she says, eyes steely. “You’re right,” she repeats, and then she turns to Ennoshita with determination burning in her gaze.

She bows, quick and low. “I apologize for my momentary hesitation, sir!”

“Um,” Ennoshita says, surprised. He would barely call that hesitation—Kinoshita had quit once, and comparatively, Michimiya’s words were barely a concern. “It’s fine?”

“Yeah,” Nishinoya says, grinning. It’s an expression that warms his face, takes away the edge of sharpness and replaces it with something fond. “As long as you keep moving forward, what does it matter?”

“Is it that simple,” Ennoshita muses aloud, amused.

“‘Course it is,” Nishinoya says, turning that grin in Ennoshita’s direction. And it’s funny because, well—

Ennoshita believes him.

 

It’s different from training when they were younger—less about perfecting their technique and more about letting out steam.

Ennoshita’s relieved to find the younger Ukai in the room; he’s still a bit terrified of the older Ukai. He lets them unroll the thin mats, and settles himself against the wall to watch and keep track of points.

Nishinoya and Michimiya volunteer to go first, so Ennoshita sits back to watch them.

They bow at each before taking their stances. The moment Ukai sounds his whistle, Michimiya shoots forward, her whole body moving like a whip. Ennoshita has just enough time to register that she’s aiming for Nishinoya’s throat when Nishinoya moves, hand catching Michimiya’s and yanking sharply to the side. It sends her careening and Nishinoya raises an elbow to bring it slamming down on Michimiya’s back. Ennoshita thinks _one point_ , but then Michimiya’s knee is whistling forward, led by the momentum of her fall, and Nishinoya abruptly switches to defense, arms deflecting the kick. Michimiya twists slightly so that she lands on her upper arm and shoulder, and her other leg swings low and sharp, catching Nishinoya’s ankle and getting his leg out from underneath him. Ennoshita expects Nishinoya to go down, but he saves himself with a roll that leaves him crouched just out of Michimiya’s reach.

There is no recovery time—Michimiya is there just as Nishinoya comes out of the roll, her knee aiming for his head. Nishinoya falls back, quite literally bent backwards, and as he comes back up his fist is already halfway to slamming into her stomach. She falls back, and they’re a twist of bodies for a moment, moving too quickly for Ennoshita to follow. Then Nishinoya gets Michimiya’s arm and twist it, using his weight to get her to fall face-first into the mat. There’s silence except for an irritated huff from Michimiya.

“One-zero, Nishinoya,” Ukai says, sounding stunned. Ennoshita feels similarly; he exhales sharply, his fingers relaxing from where they’d curled into his palm.

Nishinoya helps Michimiya up, and then they’re at opposite sides of the mat again. Michimiya is muttering something under her breath, glaring at Nishinoya as she rolls her shoulder back. Ennoshita looks at Nishinoya, expecting something _raucous_ —an overconfident grin, a feral show of teeth, a set of shoulders that scream watch me. Instead, he finds Nishinoya half crouched, mouth parted slightly as he huffs out a breath, his eyes wide and trained intently on Michimiya. This Nishinoya isn’t asking to be seen, but commands attention anyways.

The rest of the fight passes in a blur, the next point going to Nishinoya, then two in quick succession to Michimiya. Ennoshita keeps his hands curled in tight fists as he watches them. He can tell that Tanaka and Kinoshita are impressed, too; he can hear them whispering next to him, quick snippets that Ennoshita doesn’t try to catch.

“Four-three, Nishinoya,” Ukai says after what feels like an entire day, and Michimiya makes a little noise of irritation, scrubbing at her head.

“Dammit, Noya,” she says, and Nishinoya slaps her back with a familiar grin. Ennoshita, having been on the receiving end of that slap before, winces, but Michimiya doesn’t so much as flinch. She punches him back.

Tanaka whoops when he gets close to Nishinoya and Michimiya, his praise echoing in the room. Ennoshita relaxes his hands, shaking them slightly, before standing to grab the water bottles next to him.

He’s glad that neither Tanaka nor Kinoshita were intimidated, but a curl of it sits at his spine. Ennoshita’s not sure he can take either of them in the ring, and feels suddenly self-conscious.

But he shakes his head and pushes the thought away; Tanaka didn’t suggest sparring to make Ennoshita question his skill.

The duo is still arguing, clearly not actually angry with each other, when Ennoshita approaches them.

“You could’ve gotten outta that,” Nishinoya is saying and Michimiya turns to him with an indignant huff of, “Yeah, if I wanted to break my arm.”

Nishinoya laughs, unconcerned, and Ennoshita is powerfully reminded of siblings squabbling. He offers them both water bottles and grins.

“You two are amazing,” he says, because they are, and gets the pleasure of watching them turn identical shades of red.

Michimiya recovers first, slapping Ennosita’s shoulder with a laugh. Ennoshita tries to smile through the sting.

Nishinoya grins like he knows exactly what Ennoshita’s experiencing and is glad that it’s not him. “Bet you’ve never seen anything like it, huh?”

Ennoshita hums, shaking his arm out a bit. He can’t help the proud turn of his lips when he says, “Well, my main guards aren’t too shabby, either.”

He’s seen Tanaka and Kinoshita fight a thousand times already, but it’s interesting nonetheless; Tanaka lacks the grace of the other two, but he’s powerful and relentless. The first point, however, goes to Kinoshita. He’s quicker, a faster thinker, and Ennoshita can’t help but appreciate how well they complement each other here and on the field.

The gym grows hot as the fights progress; by the time Ennoshita’s up against Nishinoya, his shirt is slick with perspiration. It’s beginning to smell like sweat in the room, and a few family members have popped their heads in to watch the matches or else grab equipment from the room. They’re curious, like Ennoshita was, to see Michimiya and Nishinoya in action up close.

When that gaze is turned on him, though, Ennoshita finds that he’d rather not find out this close. He smiles politely when they bow, and the small gesture makes Nishinoya scrunch his eyebrows.

Ennoshita kind of hopes that Nishinoya is underestimating him.

Nishinoya, as it turns out, is not underestimating him. By the time Nishinoya’s taken the first two points, Ennoshita has come to the understanding that Nishinoya has a policy of not underestimating anyone.

Ennoshita knows his strength isn’t in hand-to-hand, but a twinge of irritation mixed with a foreign desire to show off makes him click his tongue, scowling. He reasons it’s because he doesn’t want to be seen losing to both of his new guards.

When he gets to the opposite side of the mat, he breathes in deeply before lowering into his stance. He remembers what he’s learned sparring with the other guards and lets himself believe, for just this once, that he has all the skills needed to win.

Nishinoya goes down with an all too satisfying thud, his arm firmly in Ennoshita’s grip. Ennoshita registers the point going to him, thinks in the back of his mind two-one. Nishinoya flips over with a grumble, and Ennoshia laughs quietly at the pout Nishinoya’s wearing.

He can’t quite help the slight curve of his lips when they face each other again.

 

Ennoshita slumps down, watching Ukai talk to Tanaka. Out of habit, his eyes slide to find Kinoshita, whose hands are moving in slight motions as he talks to Michimiya. Everyone’s more relaxed in here—there’s something about cuffing your partners and superior that makes the distance of their positions melt away.

It takes Ennoshita a moment to realize he doesn’t see Nishinoya, and by the time he’s turned his head to find his last bodyguard, Nishinoya is already at his side. He lands next to Ennoshita with a surprisingly heavy thud, some of his hair falling out of his usual style to hang it his eyes. He grins, wide and with lingering adrenaline.

In another life, Ennoshita thinks he might find it charming.

“D’you even need this many bodyguards? You nearly broke my arm,” Nishinoya says, sounding inordinately pleased.

“Shimizu seems to think I do,” Ennoshita says. He fiddles with the edge of his shirt. “And it’s not like I could have lived with the family for this long without learning something.”

Nishinoya laughs, the kind that begs laughter from whoever might be nearby.

Nishinoya, Ennoshita realizes, has become familiar far quicker than Ennoshita thought he would.

“Can I ask you something?” Ennoshita asks, feeling far braver than he has in a while. Nishinoya gives him a funny look, and Ennoshita shrugs.

“Go ahead,” Nishinoya says. There’s a faint scar near the bridge of his nose, barely any bigger than the imprint of a fingernail. Ennoshita’s not sure how he hasn’t noticed that before.

“About you and Michimiya,” Ennoshita starts, pulling his gaze away from Nishinoya’s face. He’s not sure how to ask what he’s been wondering. They remind him of Tanaka and Kinoshita and himself, with how relaxed they were around each other. “You two—how long have you known each other?”

Nishinoya looks at him for a long while before answering. “We’re siblings,” he says, “She’s older.”

This strikes Ennoshita as very obvious, once it’s been pointed out to him.

“I remember the first time I saw you two,” Ennoshita says abruptly. “Before this, I mean.”

Nishinoya nods, a soft smile at the corner of his mouth that makes Ennoshita’s heart scramble for footing in his chest. “Me too,” Nishinoya chirps happily. “You were hidden in the ceiling.”

Ennoshita laughs, dropping his gaze to the ground. “I thought you and Michimiya were amazing, already working with my father and the main team,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I didn’t—I never thought I’d be able to work with either of you.”

“Why not?” Nishinoya asks. Nishinoya walks a fine line between professionalism and familiarity already, but the vestiges of his professionalism drops with that one question; he peers at Ennoshita curiously, like they’re two friends having a conversation over lunch.

“I wasn’t allowed to, at first. And, besides,” Ennoshita adds with a self-deprecating smile, “it’s not like I’m a noticeable guy, you know?”

“Of course you are,” Nishinoya says. His gaze drops briefly when Ennoshita looks over, rises back up with a grin and the words, “I’ve always noticed you.”

Honesty, Ennoshita recalls, is a dangerous thing.

But he still wants to know, has wanted answers since he was fifteen: _then what is it, about me?_

“Because I’m the boss’ son,” Ennoshita guesses. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“No,” is Nishinoya’s immediate reply. He’s pink with exertion, and becomes pinker still when Ennoshita gives him a flat look. “It’s just...you, yanno?”

 _Dangerous,_ Ennoshita thinks uselessly. Of course Nishinoya is dangerous, he chides himself; he’s one of the best assassins in the world.

It’s just that maybe Ennoshita didn’t realize Nishinoya was _this kind_ of dangerous, too.

Ennoshita sucks in a breath, but can’t help the way his heart picks up when he says, “I think you have a bigger estimation of my skill than is warranted.”

Nishinoya hums thoughtfully, staring at him. “Did it help?” he asks, switching the conversation suddenly.

Bewildered, Ennoshita asks, “What?”

“This,” Nishinoya explains, waving a hand to gesture at the training room, “Yanno. Did it help?”

“Oh,” Ennoshita says. He tilts his head back, lets it rest against the wall behind him. “I guess.”

Nishinoya grins and stands, offering a hand to Ennoshita. At Ennoshita’s confused look, he says, “‘I guess’ just means you didn’t exhaust yourself enough earlier!”

“No,” Ennoshita says with a twist of his lips, “I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”

But he takes Nishinoya’s hand anyways.

 

It’s midweek and the younger Tsukishima walks into Ennoshita's office with a bomb. It’s dismantled, of course, but it’s there and when Ennoshita glances up, eyebrows up as high as they can go, Tsukishima starts talking.

His voice is curiously tight, and gets tighter as he explains: found in one of their shell stores, the staff tied up and a demand letter in the hands of the lone captor, evidently speaking for the entire group he came from. Hinata and Kageyama had been chasing him out when they noticed it just behind the counter, already ticking down. Kageyama managed to dismantle the one, but there was a second under their car, and the man had gotten away amidst the confusion of the blast.

It’s cartoonish and brazen, and therefore worrying—these are the people who don’t care about leaving a mark, who don’t care about extra casualties.

“And Hinata and Kageyama?” Ennoshita asks, because Tsukishima’s fingers are threatening to strangle themselves. For all his grumbling, Ennoshita knows Tsukishima cares about them.

Tsukishima’s nose twitches. “Caught in the car blast, but still alive.”

 _But still alive_. Ennoshita wants to tell him that’s the best they can ask for, sometimes; they’re still new, haven’t gotten used to the idea that they all wear their mortality in the folds of their clothes and the timing of a trigger.

But then, maybe Ennoshita hasn’t quite, either; maybe, despite the death he’s known, he’s still figuring out how to reconcile invincibility with inevitability.

 _Even mob bosses die,_ he thinks. The rumination weighs heavily on his mind, but offers no ideas towards an explanation.

So he says nothing, just stands and gestures for Kinoshita to grab his jacket.

“Do we know which group it was?” Ennoshita asks.

Tsukishima nods, and in a few short words has given Ennoshita all the knowledge he needs about the gang that injured their own.

Predictably, Tsukishima already had the case of earpieces waiting just outside the door. He sticks around to assure himself that none of the tech has mysteriously gotten buggy since he last touched them—he gives Tanaka an especially dry look that Tanaka answers with an exceedingly childish stuck out tongue—and then lingers in the doorway.

Tsukishima is not one Ennoshita would ever call restless, but it’s the only word Ennoshita can think of to describe him at the moment.

“Should I have Narita-san call Seijou and—”

“No,” Ennoshita says, shrugging into his jacket as his guard falls in a familiar formation—two in front, two in back, Ennoshita the steady center. He doesn’t give himself long enough to wonder how it compares to his father, but the thought comes and goes all the same. “Call Johzenji.”

As the saying goes—fire with fire.

 

They are moving out shortly after, a muscle jumping in Tanaka’s jaw. Ennoshita knows he’s taking the attack personally—he trained Hinata and Kageyama when they first started, and there’s lingering affection for them whenever he speaks of them.

Terushima is as fired up as he always is; Narita connects them through the comm, and Terushima voice booms into Ennoshita’s ear.

“Calm down,” Ennoshita grits out, already regretting the decision. He flexes his hands in his gloves, checking the dexterity.

“Sure thing, boss,” Terushima says, “but hey—no promises when we get there, yeah?”

Ennoshita snorts, accepting the gun Kinoshita hands him. Tanaka prefers the traditional, his sword tucked between his legs as he slides into the front of the car.

“Yeah,” Ennoshita agrees, because he knows how Johzenji works.

Nishinoya slides into the seat next to him, wound up with barely suppressed kinetic energy. His grin is the killing edge of blade when he asks, “Ready, boss?”

Ennoshita holsters his gun and smiles thinly; he doesn’t necessarily like being part of a gang, but there’s no denying the spike of adrenaline and frenzied excitement that enters his bloodstream as Suga brings the car to life. “As I ever am.”

There are a few of them when they reach the hideout—just enough that Ennoshita is glad to have brought the extra hands, not enough that it takes too long for them to find the self-proclaimed don. He leaves Nishinoya, Kinoshita, and Terushima’s crew to deal with the group out front and makes his way towards the back of the warehouse, Michimiya and Tanaka close by.

The don is sequestered in the innermost room of their hideout, and Michimiya makes very quick work of the solitary guard outside.

Ennoshita knocks, to be polite. Tanaka kicks the door off its hinges when no one answers, and the don—a round man with suspicious eyes—greets them with a gun leveled in their direction.

“You should probably put that down,” Ennoshita says conversationally. “Don’t kill where you can disarm, and the like.”

“And who’re you, then?” the man asks nastily. The gun doesn’t waver, and Tanaka shifts ever so subtly in front of Ennoshita.

“We heard you were trying to take out some our members,” Ennoshita says. He smiles, polite as anything. “We were wondering if you’d maybe not do that.”

In the silence, Ennoshita can hear the space between bullets growing. Johzenji prefers fists and other things that make resounding cracks when they met someone’s skull, and so Ennoshita assumes this means that Johzenji has gleefully disarmed their opponents.

“Heh,” the man laughs. From his expression, he seems to think the diminishing sound of bullets means that his guys are winning, but Ennoshita can hear Terushima whooping orders through the comm. “Maybe it your crew wasn’t full of amateurs, you wouldn’t be so easy to take out.”

Ennoshita’s jaw stiffens. “I don’t think you fully appreciate your position here.”

The man sniffs, as if Ennoshita’s words weren’t worth his time. There’s a certain amount of pomp around the man’s movements that makes Ennoshita think he’s more words than action.

Tanaka glances at him out of the corner of his eye and Ennoshita nods once. A knife flies through the air a moment later, sticks its landing in the man’s wrist.

The man’s yell is a strangled, gurgling thing, and when the gun falls from his grip, Michimiya shoots forward to catch it. She directs the gun to the man’s head and that’s when Ennoshita notices that the noise from the front has completely ceased.

He smiles again, less politely. “Did you or did you not order the hit on my men?”

The man curls his hand towards his chest, breathing heavily. He stares at the knife still embedded in his wrist, blood streaming steadily from the point of impact, then stares at Ennoshita and Tanaka. His voice shakes when he speaks. “Is a half-baked crow really trying to intimidate us?” He laughs, unconvincingly. “You’re just pretending to be something since your daddy died.”

Tanaka growls and steps forward, but Ennoshita tugs lightly on the back of his suit jacket to stop him. Ennoshita walks forward instead, coming to a stop just in front of the man. Michimiya watches him carefully, her gun still leveled at the man’s head.

When Ennoshita glances down, she lowers it.

Ennoshita adjusts his gloves and throws his first punch. He generally prefers to have Suga perform these sorts of negotiations, but, well.

Ennoshita’s not above doing them himself.

The man, as it turns out five minutes later, is not above cowering. He spits a glob of red onto the ground between them, says, “It wasn’t me who ordered the attack, alright?”

“So, if it wasn’t you,” Ennoshita starts, already fed up with this entire exchange, “who was it?”

The man swallows, suddenly quiet. Ennoshita watches the bob of his adam’s apple dispassionately.

“You have to understand,” he starts.

“All I understand,” Ennoshita interrupts, “is that I have two injured men and you’re not giving up the name of anyone else.”

“He’s out front,” the man answers, which is bad because that probably means he’s unconscious at best. “He thought—we thought—he wanted your boss dead, alright? No one thought your crew would survive without him.”

Ennoshita takes a second to digest this, and then asks, “Are you saying that you intentionally killed my father to capitalize on a possible power vacuum?”

The man seems to come to the understanding that he has quite literally dug himself a grave. He doesn’t say anything else, and Ennoshita’s mouth curves into a scowl of disgust. He gestures for Tanaka to move forward.

The steel of his sword glints ominously under the fluorescent light.

“You gambled wrong,” Ennoshita says. He tilts his head thoughtfully. “You didn’t have anything to add, did you?”

The man laughs, on the precipice of hysteric. Ennoshita takes that as a no.

He turns away, and finds Nishinoya and Kinoshita at the doorway. Ennoshita raises an eyebrow and Kinoshita smiles in response. It’s the kind without a tremble.

“Should we call someone for clean-up?” Kinoshita asks as Ennoshita walks out of the room. He ignores the sound of something heavy hitting the ground behind him.

“How bad is it?” Ennoshita asks.

Nishinoya, still in the doorway, says, “Eh. Pretty bloody, I guess.”

“Please tell me you didn’t kill everybody,” Ennoshita says, “There’s someone we had to capture.”

Nishinoya whistles. “Maybe call Terushima-kun?”

Ennoshita gives Kinoshita the okay to call the clean-up crew before pressing a finger to his earpiece and saying, “Terushima, we have to capture one guy out front. The don back here was a cover.”

He gives the description.

“Ah,” Terushima tells him through the comm, his tongue piercing clacking against his teeth in a way that has to be intentional, “We saw him. Hold on. Oi, Takeharu!”

Nishinoya catches up with him as they walk through the warehouse. The only indications that he’s been fighting are the shiny patches with reddish sheen on his suit.

Ennoshita sighs, rubbing the sweat off his forehead with an absent-minded swipe of his arm.

“Are you okay, boss?” Nishinoya asks. He smiles, looking harmless and small. Ennoshita cannot think of a bigger lie than that.

“I’m fine,” Ennoshita says, then after a pause, “You can call me Ennoshita, you know.”

Nishinoya’s smile widens. It does strange things to Ennoshita’s heart, given that they’re in the middle of a crime scene.

“You were really impressive back there,” Nishinoya says.

Heat rushes into Ennoshita’s ears. “I committed assault is all.”

Nishinoya laughs. Ennoshita hates how comfortable he’s becoming with the sound.

“I know,” Nishinoya says. He’s looking straight ahead, his smile softening into fondness. “But you still gave him a chance. You always give people a chance.”

Before Ennoshita can answer, Terushima’s voice comes back.

“So, boss,” he says, and Ennoshita’s gut drops at the tone, “He might have gotten away.”

“He what.” Ennoshita is very seldom angry, but he is suddenly, incredibly _pissed right the hell off._

Terushima almost laughs. It’s a strangled sort of noise, like he knows he’s in trouble. It’s the kind of noise that usually only Misaki, the retired right hand of the former underboss, can elicit from him.

“Terushima,” Ennoshita says, once. He waits several beats, and Terushima clicks his tongue.

“Alright, alright, we kind of fucked up,” Terushima agrees, a what can you do shrug in his voice, “but my guys were just having some fun, yanno?”

Ennoshita does know, because that’s Johzenji’s occasionally bloody signature— _let’s have some fun_. Ennoshita bites back any comment on how they need to learn to clean up their own messes and says, “Don’t let anyone escape next time.”

Ennoshita switches the comm to Narita without waiting for Terushima to answer, and says, voice icy, “Put out an order to the family. Our suspect got away.”

 

Once the word is out, the family becomes a perpetual motion machine—Narita is connected to his headset every time Ennoshita sees him, and Tsukishima trails behind him, his tablet reflecting videos and emails off his glasses.

Ennoshita fields calls from his underbosses for several hours, until Kinoshita bullies him out of the conference room.

“You need to sleep,” Kinoshita says sternly, “Tanaka and I will take shifts in here, okay?”

“But—” Ennoshita starts, because he has a _job_. Kinoshita stands his ground, though, and soon enough Ennoshita is back in his room.

“Call me if someone finds him,” Ennoshita says before acquiescing.

Kinoshita sighs. “Yes, _sir_.” His gaze softens at Ennoshita’s disgruntled look. “We’re worried about you. Idiot.”

Ennoshita smiles faintly. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Yeah, but if we don’t,” Kinoshita says, rapping his knuckles against Ennoshita’s forehead, “who will? The world doesn’t rest on your shoulders, you know.”

It shouldn’t be that surprising to hear, but—

It kind of is.

 

Nishinoya is the night guard this time; Ennoshita can tell because of the minute scuffing sounds outside his door, the noise of a phone keypad. Even when he’s trying to be quiet, Nishinoya is loud.

Ennoshita stares at his ceiling for another moment, listening to the soft sounds and his own heartbeat before he sits up. Running one hand through his hair, he walks over to the door and pulls it open with a tiny click.

Nishinoya glances up, his eyes unnaturally bright against the muted darkness of the hallway. The light from his phone dims to black a second later, and then there’s only the light coming from the floor lamp in the corner, not quite reaching them.

“D’you want something?” Nishinoya asks, not rude or deferential or at the ready. Just curious, and pitched a bit too loud for the silence of Ennoshita’s room.

Ennoshita stares at him. What does he want? What has he ever wanted, except to feel halfway competent at anything he’s ever done?

Ennoshita shakes his head. “I can’t sleep,” he says. His fingers drum against the doorway.

“Neither can I,” Nishinoya jokes, and Ennoshita tries to flatten his mouth in displeasure. It’s a terrible joke, but for some reason, it makes the edges of Ennoshita’s chest warm with fondness.

“Do you want tea?” Ennoshita asks. He needs to do something with his hands and it’s not like either of them are looking to fall asleep any time soon. He doesn’t wait for Nishinoya to answer; Ennoshita pads barefoot to his kitchen, grabbing his kettle from one of the cupboards.

“I can help,” Nishinoya says, at Ennoshita’s side a moment later. He flicks on the overhead kitchen light.

“You can sit,” Ennoshita says, shushing him with a look. Nishinoya hovers anyways, getting on his tiptoes to reach for the snacks in the pantry above the sink. Ennoshita kicks him lightly behind the knees to scold him for taking food without permission, but Nishinoya just gives him one of those hundred watt smiles and Ennoshita’s irritation slips away.

They don’t talk, but already Ennoshita feels some of the tension that’s been in his muscles relax as he fills the water and waits for it to get hot.

“Nishinoya,” Ennoshita says slowly, pulling mugs from the cupboard. He doesn’t even know what he’s going to ask until Nishinoya nods, mouth full with cookies. Ennoshita snorts at the sight, then drops his gaze to the countertop. “What did you think of my father?”

If Nishinoya’s surprised by the question, he does an exceptional job of hiding it. “He was a good guy,” Nishinoya says after swallowing his food, resting his hip on the counter. “Really strong, inspiring. I don’t think he needed as many bodyguards as he had either.”

“He still got shot, though.” The bitterness in Ennoshita’s voice visibly surprises both of them. Ennoshita busies himself with the tea, feeling his face flame guiltily.

“Yeah,” Nishinoya says with surprising gentleness, “He did.”

No one here has a very long life expectancy, and Ennoshita knows this—the knowledge is little chinks in his ribs: names that he lights incense for now; a scar that runs up the lower part of Kinoshita’s abdomen when Ennoshita almost lost him; the sound of voice cutting off in his earpiece to a volley of gunshots.

Somehow—inanely, _childishly_ —Ennoshita had convinced himself death didn’t extend to his father.

Ennoshita takes his mug of tea to the small table in the middle of the room and curls up on the couch.

He can feel Nishinoya watching him, and Ennoshita doesn’t want to look up and see whatever expression Nishinoya might be wearing. He’s supposed to be the next boss—he _is_ the next boss, and doesn’t that mean he’s supposed to be an unfailing pillar? The kind of person who doesn’t seem like he’ll falter? And what is he doing, confiding in Nishinoya—his bodyguard, and not even one that will stick around past this crisis. Ennoshita should be talking to Tanaka or Kinoshita, or better yet, Kiyoko; someone removed from his protection detail, at least, or maybe no one at all.

But Nishinoya’s so easy to talk to that it alarms Ennoshita; all it takes is one of Nishinoya’s grins, and then whatever wound up thing living in Ennoshita’s chest unravels as completely and as easily as if it was just waiting, all this time, for the right person to ask.

“He did,” Ennoshita echoes, because saying it aloud makes it true, and with all the running around and duties piling up, Ennoshita has maybe forgotten what the truth sounds like.

Harsh and unavoidable and cathartic, this late at night with someone who will listen.

“Chikara,” Nishinoya says, and it startles Ennoshita so badly that he looks up, unguarded. Ennoshita stares, because he hasn’t heard his first name out of anyone’s mouth in such a long time that it’s become alien to his ear. And Nishinoya doesn’t look like he’s done anything out of ordinary, but he is watching Ennoshita carefully. His expression is unreadable. “I can call you that, right?”

Ennoshita’s supposed to say no—it’s too familiar, too intimate. Even Tanaka and Kinoshita, who are unarguably the people he’s closest to, don’t use his first name.

There is a chasm closing with frightening rapidness, and Ennoshita knows that he can stop it by telling Nishinoya that _this_ was the line. Nishinoya was neither unintelligent nor disrespectful. He would stop, if Ennoshita asked him to.

“I suppose you can,” Ennoshita says instead, quiet.

Nishinoya smiles at him and Ennoshita’s throat goes dry.

“You can be mad at your dad for dying, Chikara,” Nishinoya says. Ennoshita’s never thought of Nishinoya as gentle, but that’s the only word he can think of to describe Nishinoya’s voice. “Grief is weird, yanno?”

And then his picks up his own mug of tea and collapses next to Ennoshita on the couch, offering the half-empty box of cookies in his clutches. The corner of his mouth is pulled into a half-smile, and Ennoshita doesn’t—he doesn’t know what any of this _means_. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, and he doesn’t know what Nishinoya’s doing, but Nishinoya’s already a comforting presence wrapped around Ennoshita’s heart and it has nothing to do with the grief—or maybe it has everything to do with the grief, and Nishinoya just happened to come along at the right time—except, no, that’s not it, that’s not…

Ennoshita cradles his mug to his chest and lets his head fall onto Nishinoya’s shoulder and breathes. Breathes in Nishinoya’s scent, the quiet of the room, the single familiarity in the confusion of the world outside this room, this bubble of right now.

“Thank you,” he says against Nishinoya’s shoulder.

And Nishinoya turns his head and Ennoshita can feel his lips right at the crown of his head, his breath disturbing Ennoshita’s hair when Nishinoya speaks. “Any time.”

They stay like that for a very long time.

 

When Ennoshita wakes, he’s curled uncomfortably on his couch, a blanket thrown over him, and the smell of coffee in the air. Someone’s moving in his kitchen; the sounds are familiar, but Ennoshita can’t immediately place them until he registers the humming. Ennoshita adjusts with a sigh, feeling his joints crack.

“Tanaka?” he calls, voice still slurred with sleep. In the back of his mind, he wonders where Nishinoya is, but then remembers that the guards shifted in the mornings. He winces.

When Ennoshita works up the courage to sit up, he finds Tanaka staring at him, clearly about to ask a question and then thinking better of it.

Tanaka _looks_ guilty, and Ennoshita _feels guilty_ , and, god, his eyes were hard to keep open with the sleep crusting them. Did he fall asleep crying? The thought is mortifying.

“Morning, Ennoshita,” Tanaka says, and Ennoshita buries his face in one hand because even Tanaka’s voice projects unasked questions.

“Morning,” Ennoshita answers, “Please don’t look at me like that.”

The door beeps, and Shimizu walks in a moment later, glancing between Tanaka and Ennoshita several times before seemingly deciding not to ask. Ennoshita feels like he should just come out and say that he did nothing wrong.

“What’s happening?” he asks instead, because there is no need to defend himself and he’s not going to let his worries get the best of him.

“Hinata has a lead,” Shimizu says.

 

“In Tokyo?” Ennoshita asks, and Hinata nods. He’s still bedridden, but awake and clearly anxious to be moving. “How do you know?”

“Kenma!” Hinata chirps, and Ennoshita has never, will never, understand how Hinata managed to become so close to one of the most influential families in Japan.

Nekoma’s got a way of riding their footprints from the world, making themselves seem as innocuous as possible. It makes them especially good at selling information on people that would otherwise not want to be found.

“He’s not our problem,” Kuroo is saying, when Ennoshita gives him a call, “But he can be, if you need it to be.”

“He’s our problem,” Ennoshita says firmly, and Kuroo’s grin widens on the conference call screen.

“Well then,” he says, and there’s something chilling about the way he says it. Nekoma has always been an ally, moreso in the recent years, but hearing Kuroo now, Ennoshita can’t help but wonder what sort of trouble they’d be in if their families weren’t friendly. “We’ll just send him back your way, shall we?”

Enoshita ignores the instinct to hide away, and gives Kuroo a grin of his own. “Thanks.”

Nekoma, as should be expected, place a magnificent game of cat and mouse. Ennoshita receives several pictures from the crew of their suspect. He almost feels bad for the guy when he gets a particularly blurry selfie from the trio of Kai, Taketora, and Lev, three of Nekoma’s heavy hitters.

But it works, and barely an hour later, Kenma contacts them to say that their suspect has left the Nerima area.

“We sent him in the direction of one of your crews,” Kenma adds, which could mean a lot of things. Ennoshita thinks of which families border Tokyo, and his lips twist just the littlest bit.

He contacts Shiratorizawa first. Shirabu answers the call, taking in the information in with his usual curtness.

Then Ennoshita calls Johzenji.

Misaki answers instead of Terushima, which might very well mean he’s dead. Misaki can be very unforgiving.

“Sorry, sir,” she says. She’s the only person Ennoshita knows who can manage to look regal in Johzenji’s tracksuits. “Terushima-san would be here, but I’ve been kicking the team’s asses into gear and he’s still recovering.”

From off-screen, Ennoshita hears a chain whisper of _asses_. It’s impossible to tell if it’s fear or awe that’s spurring the disbelief.

“Thank you,” Ennoshita says, and means it; Johzenji would be good, if only they focused.

Misaki smiles ruefully. “I’m only around for a little longer,” she says apologetically, “I’m just trying to do what I can.”

Ushijima contacts Ennoshita a few hours later, just at the dawn has become a proper morning. He politely informs Ennoshita that the suspect has been captured.

“Thanks,” Ennoshita says, “We’ll head over to your base for transport.”

“Yes,” Ushijima says, to the point as always. The comm shuts off a moment later, and Ennoshita chuckles to himself.

“Did you want to meet with him?” Shimizu asks, appearing out of nowhere. She looks like she’s been running around, her eyes bright. “Or did you want to leave it to. Hm. Suga?”

“I think Suga would like that,” Ennoshita says.

Shimizu smiles. It’s the first time Ennoshita’s seen her truly at ease since his father died. “I’ll let him know.”

She doesn’t leave, though; it’s clear that she’s thinking of something, taking care to form the words before she speaks.

Finally, Shimizu says, cheeks pink, “Your father would be very proud.”

And she hurries out of the office.

Michimiya watches her go, open-mouthed.

It takes Ennoshita several moments to recover because Shimizu never gives out praise, and it’s a punch to Ennoshita’s heart. Tanaka and Nishinoya, he notes, have burst into silent tears.

Michimiya, however, is still red and, possibly, getting redder. Ennoshita coughs to get her attention.

“No one’s forbidding you from talking to her,” Ennoshita says lightly.

“Ah!” Michimiya starts. She gives him a sheepish look, rubbing at the back of her head. “I wasn’t—I just!” She falters, hand stilling, and then starts again, more vigorously, “I don’t think I could! She’s really—” Michimiya makes a vague motion with her free hand.

Ennoshita smiles, understanding. “She’s not that intimidating.”

“Even when she ignores you, it feels pretty good,” Tanaka adds.

Michimiya laughs. It’s the same sort of bright sound as her brother’s. “You’re all so weird,” she says. It sounds like a good thing when she says it. “You especially, Ennoshita-san.”

“What?”

She hums a bit, clasping her hands behind her. “You’re very kind, for a boss. I think that’s very brave of you.”

Ennoshita laughs quietly, rubbing at the back of his neck. There is still doubt at the back of his mind, but it’s small in the face of assurances, small enough that Ennoshita thinks he could fold it up and maybe, eventually, get rid of it. “Thank you.”

 

By mid-afternoon, while their suspect was being interrogated on whether there were any other players in the assassination and attack, Ennoshita stands, stretching. There’s been too much fighting in too small an amount of time, and his muscles protest his movement. 

Ennoshita stretches, talking to everyone and nobody in particular. “I’m going to visit Kageyama and Hinata.”

He doesn’t wait for anyone to answer—he’s up and out of the door a moment later, and four pairs of footsteps fall in line behind him.

Soon, he finds himself thinking, it will go back to being two. Ennoshita did not expect the thought to be such a lonely one.

Yamaguchi is at the medical bay when they arrive, conversing with an already-awake Hinata. Kageyama is still asleep in the bed next to Hinata, and Ennoshita is incredibly relieved at the sight of his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Yamaguchi notices them first.

“Sir!” Yamaguchi says, standing and bowing.

“Ennoshita-san!” Hinata chirps, brightening, then amends, “Boss!”

“You don’t need to call me boss,” Ennoshita says with a small smile. “Neither of you.”

He feel a little out of place, but reminds himself that he’s here to check up on his team, his family, and slips into the other seat by Hinata’s bed.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks.

Hinata wear his thoughts on his face in a very obvious display—he scrunches his nose, thinking, and waves the arm that Ennoshita only now notices is in a cast. He and Yamaguchi share looks of alarm at Hinata’s blatant disregard for his well-being.

“This is really, really annoying,” Hinata declares, “But I’m okay! Kageyama’s okay, too, he’s just using this as an excuse to nap. The burns weren’t that bad.”

Someone—Nishinoya, Ennoshita thinks—stifles a laugh.

“I’m glad you’re both okay,” Ennoshita says, earning him a big grin from Hinata.

“We’ll be back to help soon!” Hinata says earnestly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ennoshita says firmly, putting a hand on Hinata’s shoulder and forcing him to lie back down. “Just focus on getting better, alright?”

Understanding and disappointment war on Hinata’s face for a moment, and Ennoshita laughs. “There’ll be plenty of other fights for you to take on when you’re healed, Hinata.”

“A-ah! Yes! Sorry!” Hinata bows as best as he could while still sitting in a bed. It was quite impressive, actually. “It’s just…”

He trails off, and Ennoshita leans forward. “What?”

“They think we’re weak,” Hinata says, face darkened into one of his eerie scowls.

“We’re not,” Ennoshita assures him, and when Hinata blinks, back to false innocence, Ennoshita smiles softly and adds, “We never were.”

Ennoshita pats Yamaguchi’s back when they leave a few minutes later, and then they’re out of the medical bay altogether, waving off someone’s call of thanks for visiting, boss!

“You know what?” Nishinoya asks, falling back to keep step with Ennoshita. Ennoshita glances at him, bemused. Nishinoya waits until he’s certain he has all of Ennoshita’s attention before grinning, saying, “You’re a pretty good boss already.”

Then he’s bounding forward, answering Tanaka’s call, and Ennoshita feels warmth creep ever so slowly into his cheeks, his ears.

He ducks his head, and allows himself a single, proud grin.

 

It’s so busy that he almost—almost—forgets about the funeral.

It’s a two day process; the wake and then the funeral itself.

Datekou is there just as Futakuchi promised, an impressive string lining the procession. There is chanting and flower arrangements adorning the picture of Ennoshita’s father, an ever-burning stick of incense at the base of his picture.

Ennoshita doesn’t know how to feel; he takes the white envelopes of condolence money with subdued thanks as they run through the sutras. Of everything that’s happened, this is the most surreal: sitting in front of his father’s coffin and knowing with certainty that he will never see him again.

The next morning, the seemingly endless flower arrangements are placed in his father’s coffin until his entire body is covered with them, until there’s nothing but soft greens and whites, peaches and yellows, an endless array of purple.

Ennoshita’s hand lingers as he settles the last arrangement atop his father’s chest. The orange petals are striking against the black of his burial suit.

“Bye, dad,” Ennoshita says, more of a sigh of breath than a conscious formation of words. And then his hand slips away and the coffin is nailed shut, ready to be carried to the crematorium.

 

Two hours later, they return to the crematorium. Ennoshita’s not sure if he feels heavier, or lighter, or whatever it is you’re supposed to feel after collecting your father’s ashes.

Mostly, Ennoshita is tired. He lets his head tilt back, taking in the overcast sky, the scent of far away rain. He closes his eyes, inhales.

Someone jostles his shoulder, just lightly enough to make Ennoshita open his eyes without feeling surprised. Kinoshita gives him a small smile.

“Where do you want to go?”

Ennoshita ruminates on it for a little bit, because it’s going to rain pretty soon and staying outside seems like a bad idea. But—

“The park,” Ennoshita says, and Kinoshita nods. He must make some slight movement to Tanaka, imperceptible to Ennoshita, because a moment later, Tanaka is there, swinging the car keys on his finger and whistling. Ennoshita smiles faintly.

“Suga trusted you with the keys?”

“I asked nicely,” Tanaka says, almost defensive. And, bickering, they get in, Tanaka and Nishinoya in the front of the sleek black car, Michimiya, Kinoshita, and Ennoshita in the back, his father’s ashes balanced delicately on his knees.

The park is a relic of the trio’s childhood—just far enough away to have been an adventure, just close enough to run away to without the entire family thinking someone had been kidnapped.

Now, under the overcast sky, it seems smaller than Ennoshita’s memory of it. The parking lot is an expanse of packed down dirt, and the benches that line the short walkway are worn-down and splintering at the edges. Tanaka brings the car right up to the edge of the lot, and when he turns it off, it is too quiet for even the wind.

Michimiya gets out of the car first, holding the door open for him.

Ennoshita holds the urn close to his chest and climbs out. Nostalgia follows soon after, when Kinoshita reminds Tanaka that the reason that the second bench has a broken slab is because of him. Nishinoya demands to hear this story, and for a second, Ennoshita hangs back, just watching the three of them. For one moment, he allows himself to think that this is all there is—no death, no enemies, nothing but an overcast sky and an old park and some friends.

Next to him, Michimiya is rocking on her heels, watching him watch them.

“You know,” she says suddenly, her voice as clear as the first day they met, “I was worried, at first, about what was going to happen to the crows. Noya says I lose heart too easily,” she stops, a lovely laugh catching on the wind, “I think he’s right. But I also think I didn’t have anything to worry about in the first place.”

She turns to him, smile turning softer. “I’m glad to have worked with you, Ennoshita.”

Ennoshita returning smile feels watery. “Likewise.”

 

Ennoshita walks along a gravel path with Tanaka following at a respectful distance behind him. Ennoshita stops once he reaches the willow tree; it’s just as grand as it was in his memory. It’s fading green from top to bottom, so that the branches that brush his shoulder are the brightest things left.

He places the urn next to the willow, then stares up into the branches. Ennoshita didn’t think to bring incense to light, and he doesn’t have any sort of altar to set up, but he places a hand against the bark and ignores the cold wind.

 _Hey, dad_ , he thinks, blinking hard and fast and keeping his gaze up, up, up, _I think it’s going to be okay, after all._

The tree doesn’t answer, and neither do his father’s ashes, but something settles in Ennoshita’s chest regardless. It’s uneven and awkward, loose sand not packed enough for him to find solid footing, but it’s a start.

Everything, Ennoshita thinks, is a start.

 

When Ennoshita ambles back towards the others, he notices that his remaining guards are gathered around the swingset. Nishinoya’s standing on a swing, a precarious pendulum, while Kinoshita kicks up dust instead of using the swing properly. They’re both looking at Michimiya, who’s perched on top of the swingset, her laughter carrying over to where Tanaka and Ennoshita are standing.

“They’re leaving after this,” Ennoshita says, even though Tanaka already knows this. Their contract was always a finite thing, and it doesn’t do anybody any good to consider otherwise.

“I’ll miss them,” Tanaka says, agreeing to something Ennoshita hasn’t admitted yet. Ennoshita glances at him, and it’s Tanaka, his friend, instead of Tanaka, his bodyguard, looking back at him.

Something coils in Ennoshita’s throat, and he has to try twice before he can speak.

“Yeah.” It’s all he can say.

Tanaka claps Ennoshita’s shoulder and leaves his hand there, the weight grounding, reminding Ennoshita that there is always something to keep him tethered.

“You know you can talk to us, right?” Tanaka asks.

Ennoshita smiles faintly. He’s maybe been playing martyr for too long—has forgotten something as simple as the word _we_. “Yeah.”

“You wanna head back now?”

Ennoshita shakes his head. The rain starts up, hesitant drizzles testing the air, and the wind is on the right side of chilly—not quite cold enough for Ennoshita to start complaining yet. He leans into Tanaka’s warmth, just a little, and Tanaka pulls him into a one-armed hug. It makes Ennoshita laugh, which is leagues better than making him cry.

“We’ll get through it,” Tanaka says, grinning as he releases Ennoshita.

A wry smile plays on Ennoshita’s lips. “I know.”

 

The induction ceremony is more tradition than necessity; Ennoshita wears a traditional kimono to the shrine while his guard remains in their black suits, katanas sheathed in decorative _saya_. There is _sake_ and incense, an overarching atmosphere of awe, and when they return to the base, there is music and alcohol and lighthearted jubiliation.

All in all, Ennoshita should be happier about everything coming together.

It’s just that this also means that Nishinoya and Michimiya’s contract is up, and Ennoshita is not looking forward to saying his goodbyes.

He slips out of the party as soon as he’s able, and heads up to the alcove to watch everyone from above and maybe sort out the tangle of thoughts in his head.

Shimizu is the first to find him. Ennoshita pulls his knees up to his chest and scoots over; there’s less space up here than there was when they were younger, and when Shimizu joins him, sitting with her legs folded under her like when they were kids, they end up knocking shoulders.

“You should say bye,” she says after a moment. She doesn’t look at him when she says this; her attention is focused on the scene below them. The guard is gathered, patting backs and making general nuisances of themselves. Michimiya is gesturing wildly as she speaks with Asahi, who’s an interesting shade of red.

“Are you talking to me or yourself?” Ennoshita asks, glancing at Shimizu’s profile.

She doesn’t answer right away, but a blush appears on her cheek. Finally, she says, “We’re both being idiots, don’t you think?”

A laugh blusters out of Ennoshita, but it’s too tense to be genuine; she’s right—they were hiding.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Ennoshita says, speaking to his knees. The thing in his chest tightens, tightens until it feels like there is real risk of his ribs splintering against each other.

Shimizu’s hand is soft against his. She squeezes, just once, and then lets her hand fall away. “I think it’s okay that it did, though.”

She stands a moment later, brushing her pants with two quick movements. She catches Ennoshita’s glance and smiles.

“I’m going to say goodbye,” she says, and then she’s gone, her footsteps muffled by the carpet. Ennoshita waits until he sees her appear in the midst of the crowd below him before he gets up, too.

 

It doesn’t take Ennoshita very long to find Nishinoya. He’s tucked away at the bottom of the staircase, his heels hitting against the marble in measured motions. Ennoshita’s heartbeat sounds like the words _too late, too late._

And then he walks down the steps, sliding into the space next to Nishinoya without a second thought.

“You’re missing the party,” Ennoshita says.

“I’ll go back,” Nishinoya says. He stops kicking his heels against the steps, and the lack of that noise makes the area seem unnatural.

For a long moment, Ennoshita just watches him, creating a mental catalogue; the slope of his nose, the jut of his chin, the polished amber that flits towards him and then, unusually, away.

“We have another contract lined up after this one,” Nishinoya says.

Ennoshita looks at his feet. He doesn’t know how to word what he wants to ask—what about the way their names fit so naturally on each other’s tongue, what about the warmth when their shoulders touch, what about the feeling of being caught unfurled?

“Do you know where you’re going after that contract is up?” Ennoshita asks when the silence has stretched into awkwardness. _Assuming all goes well_ , a part of him—the pessimistic part of him that knows too well that any mission can go wrong—mutters at the back of his mind.

“Depends,” Nishinoya says, honest as always. He adjusts slightly, so he’s curled properly into Ennoshita’s side, head on Ennoshita’s shoulder. He glances up. “I’ll be back, though. Promise.”

Emotions get caught, once again, in Ennoshita’s throat.

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” Ennoshita says softly.

Nishinoya’s eyes bore into his. “I don’t.”

And Ennoshita closes his eyes, decides that if he’s going to trust in something as breakable as another person’s words, he doesn’t mind if it’s Nishinoya. “Okay.”

 

_**six months** _

There’s a bark of laughter outside Ennoshita’s office door, and his head snaps up because there is something horribly, breathtakingly familiar about the laugh.

“Ennoshita,” Tanaka calls, poking his head into the office. His grin is a little too conspiratorial to bear anything good. Ennoshita frowns. “Someone’s here to see you.”

“Oh,” Ennoshita says, and hates how his heart picks up, “Who?”

Tanaka grins, toothy and vaguely unsettling, and then Nishinoya appears in the doorway, all bright eyes and impish grin, and, oh god, Ennoshita had _missed_ him.

He’s not prepared for a reunion, though, so all that comes out is a slightly strangled question of, “Nishinoya?”

“Hey,” Nishinoya says, casual as anything. Tanaka gives Ennoshita a look that Ennoshita ignores, and then Nishinoya steps fully into the room and the door is shutting behind him and Ennoshita has no idea what to do with his hands.

Nishinoya is here and Ennoshita doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to react; did they put in a request, is this business—? But no, Nishinoya’s dressed casually, and he’s watching Ennoshita with a fondness that’s borderline inappropriate, and maybe it’s just Ennoshita hoping, endlessly hoping, that whatever brings Nishinoya here has something to do with the undeniable warmth that floods Ennoshita at the sight of him.

Ennoshita’s staring, and he jolts himself out of it, blinking down at his paperwork before getting up. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate on it if he tried—and Ennoshita’s done paperwork while the guards were having shooting practice on the grounds outside.

Nishinoya’s buzzing with something that Ennoshita can’t place—he’s bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, still watching Ennoshita, mouth listing into one of his grins.

He’s waiting, Ennoshita realizes. For _him_. The thought makes Ennoshita light-headed.

“How did your last contract go?” he asks, for lack of a better question.

“Good!” Nishinoya chirps, then bounds forward in two, three steps, coming to a stop right in front of Ennoshita and twining their fingers together. “We went abroad again—it was _really cool_ —Yui says she’ll visit later!”

“Good,” Ennoshita says. He’s surprised at how much he likes the feeling of Nishinoya’s hands in his. “Shimizu misses her, I think.”

“Mm,” Nishinoya agrees. “Don’t tell her I said this, but she’ll probably ask if you have any contracts for her. She likes it here.”

Ennoshita absorbs the information with a nod. He runs his thumb along Nishinoya’s knuckle. There’s the raised skin of a scar, and Ennoshita wonders if it’s new. “What about you?”

Nishinoya cocks his head. “Whaddaya mean?”

“Are you looking for a contract?” Ennoshita asks carefully. He doesn’t have any at the moment, but he could find one, if it meant keeping Nishinoya around for a little bit longer.

But Nishinoya scrunches his nose. “I don’t want to work for you,” he says primly.

Ennoshita raises an eyebrow. “What do you want?”

Nishinoya’s grin is the exact sort that’s likely to get Ennoshita in trouble, one day. “I wonder,” Nishinoya muses, leaning up and stopping just short of meeting their noses, their lips.

Ennoshita inhales at the exact moment Nishinoya exhales, and his chest and gut and veins coil and release at the feeling of sharing breath.

“So is this your early retirement?” Ennoshita asks.

Nishinoya shakes his head slightly, laughing quietly. Their noses brush minutely. Ennoshita’s world narrows to this particular feeling—sharing breath, small points of contact, contentedness settling behind his eyelids.

“Maybe,” Nishinoya says, “If I successfully woo you.”

Ennoshita chokes on a laugh, and that’s when Nishinoya closes the space between them. Ennoshita smiles into the kiss.

He thinks Nishinoya’s off to a pretty good start.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading c: This is the longest thing I have ever written and I would very much like to hear what you think about it!! kudos are greatly appreciated as well!
> 
> fun fact! [Michimiya](http://haikyuu819.tumblr.com/post/128413005890/tsukishimacest-haikyuu-volume-5-character) and [Nishinoya](http://haikyuu819.tumblr.com/post/128412941630/tsukishimacest-haikyuu-volume-3-character) are the exact same height and (almost) weight :)


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